


Hallelujah

by galacticsky3s



Category: Game Grumps, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Christianity, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Loss of Faith, M/M, Razzabang - Freeform, Recreational Drug Use, Religion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-07 13:46:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19210657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galacticsky3s/pseuds/galacticsky3s
Summary: Barry flicked on the light switch behind himself and stepped out to stand over the figure. The guy didn’t look dangerous, though he was clearly high off his ass on something. Barry was just debating on what to do with the guy when his eyes opened, and the most awestruck look crossed his face.“Are… Are you an angel?”Danny's always dreamed of being a rock star, for as long as he can remember. But things rarely turn out quite the way you plan, and he's fallen on hard times. He's tried "taking the edge off" but not even the little white pills he takes can lessen the sting of crushed dreams.Barry is a youth minister, preaching the word of God to today's young minds, yet he struggles to reconcile his teachings with the doubts that have taken to constantly plaguing his mind.Their unlikely meeting has Barry questioning everything he's ever known, and has Dan pushing every limit he's set for himself.





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little look into Dan and Barry's backstory, and what led them to this point in their lives.

How do you convince a lanky kid of 17, with a self-proclaimed “butt chin” and hair like steel wool, that the chances of him ever becoming a rock star are even thinner than he is? The simple answer is; you don’t.

 

Danny’s parents had to learn this the hard way. Despite how much they wanted to encourage him in all of his endeavors, they knew the harsh realities of life in the music industry far better than their young, hope-filled boy. They couldn’t deny his talent, having grown up hearing his voice during chores or over the stream of water in the shower, but talent was rarely enough to get by on, and they only wanted what was best for him. So when, 2 years later, they had to tearfully watch him waving from the back of a friend’s beat up “shag wagon” with nothing but a blue bass guitar and a backpack full of torn up “rock star” clothes, they struggled to hold back their tears and fears, wanting only to show him the love and support that would hopefully spur him on to do great things.

 

When he was 19, it was so easy to believe that hope could fix everything, that anything could be accomplished if he just tried hard enough.

 

When he was 23 and his bandmates were fighting because they couldn’t afford the venue they were desperately trying to book, but they really couldn’t afford not to play either when they’d run out of food and were down to their last few smokes, it was a lot harder to believe.

 

When he was 28 and the band split up, went their separate ways and left him with nothing but a voice and that same old guitar, playing on the side of the road by day and in dodgy bars by night, he didn’t really know what to believe in.

 

When he was 32 and had long since run out of couches to surf and friends to bum off of, when he could see the age lines sinking into his face, see the five o'clock shadow that used to be so hot when he was younger, but now, paired up with his ripped jeans and leather jacket, just made him look like the homeless drifter that he hates to admit he is, when a friend of a friend he’s worked with once or twice afforded him shelter in his run down studio apartment, and a stranger inside offered him a little something extra to “take the edge off” and he didn’t hesitate to take it, he realized he’d believe anything.

 

And now, at 37, he’s “taken the edge off” so many times that you’d think there’d be nothing sharp left, that he’d be as round as the little white pills he’s taken to dry swallowing by the handful, but it’s only left him sharper, with cheekbones like the knives he keeps in his pocket, because God knows the places he’s sleeping these days aren’t safe, except he’s long since realized there _is_ no God, because he’s stopped believing in anything.

 

~~~~~

 

How do you convince a grown man of 30 to keep instilling faith in a youth group about the everlasting love of the lord above when his own faith in said God is dwindling by the day? The simple answer is; there are no simple answers, no matter how much you pray for them.

 

Barry has always been one to pursue unique perspectives, and had a knack for persuasion. He’s always been the one to listen to criticism, learn what makes something good or bad, and try to figure out how to make it better. When he was younger, he wanted to apply this skill to video games. God had other plans for him.

 

When he was 7, he was the only one in his group of friends who knew the truth about Santa and the Easter Bunny. Being raised Jewish had its advantages. He can remember being told not to tell anybody, because it might hurt their feelings, but he just couldn’t understand wanting to believe in a lie.

 

When he was 12, he was invited to a close friend’s baptism, and seeing the look on his friend’s face when he surfaced from the water, something like _rapture_ … He wanted a piece of it. At the behest of said friend, he started attending youth services to try to chase some of that sweet bliss. The pre-sermon youth groups taught him about a loving god whose son was hurt and killed for his sins. The Wednesday night gatherings taught him that worship could be fun. And at the Vacation Bible School he all but begged his parents to let him attend, he learned songs and stories that reinforced everything the church was already teaching.

 

When he was 15, he started really focusing on the sermons that were taught each Sunday morning. While he couldn’t always make sense of the dry language, all the begats and such forth, he found hope there, in the community of it. And when they were all singing together, he couldn’t deny that he felt something. Besides, if they were right, he was saving himself from an eternity of hellfire and damnation. If they were wrong… Well, it wasn’t like he had much to lose.

 

When he was 18, he believed more out of habit than anything else. He prayed the prayers, he sang the hymns, he murmured the hushed “amens.” As an analytical mind, this wasn’t enough for him. He felt like he needed more - a reason to continue this path he’d chosen. He found out that courses on biblical studies were offered at his college, which piqued his curiosity enough for him to change up a few of his classes. He’d originally set out to major in video game theory and design, and now he decided to add on a minor in theology.

 

When he was 22, he’d learned more about the bible than he thought there was to know. The good, the bad, the ugly. The murder, the injustice, the seemingly random laws that had no place in this modern world. He noticed how other Christians picked and chose which aspects of the bible applied to their life. He also noticed how, despite the rituals and ceremonies and specific rules varying from one religion to another, the core tenet of those he’d read up on all seemed to boil down to the same thing: don’t be a dick.

 

When he was 25, his church’s youth minister announced plans to move away, and when the pastor approached Barry to express interest in taking him on in his stead, he was surprised to find himself saying yes. He wasn’t entirely certain how he felt about this role - sure, he was qualified, but working with kids was a lot of pressure. But it was a little bit of extra income, and he’d get the chance to show the young'uns all the things that wrapped him up into loving God in the first place, and maybe that could help reinvigorate his own faith.

 

Now, at 30, he’s been at this for five years and doesn’t know how much more he can take. He’s seen too much, hurt too much. How is he supposed to keep loving a god that causes so much pain? How can he even believe that such a god exists? And how is he supposed to convince children that God is love, God is light, when God is a cruel bastard who takes away so much?

 


	2. My Life Started The Day I Got Caught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny got more than he bargained for with a cheap deal and winds up in some deep shit.
> 
> Barry finds a surprise waiting for him after his youth group and gets mistaken for an angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a brief description of vomit in this chapter, slightly graphic but nothing too bad. Just thought I'd put out a warning for those of you who get squicked out by that sort of thing.

 

“ _All you sinners stand up, sing Hallelujah (Hallelujah)_

_Show praise with your body_

_Stand up, sing Hallelujah (Hallelujah)_

_And if you can't stop shaking, lean back_

_Let it move right through ya (Hallelujah)_

_Say your prayers_

_Say your prayers_

_Say your prayers (Hallelujah)_ _”_

 

“Hallelujah” - Panic! At The Disco

  


Over the years, Dan felt like he'd tried it all. From molly to mushrooms, whippits to weed, tabs and bars and damn near everything in between, he'd taken just about every pill imaginable and even snorted a few questionable substances. Opioids held a special place in his heart; that sweet euphoria that made everything bright and bubbly and beautiful. But with all his experience, nothing had ever made him feel like this.

 

He wasn’t sure what he’d taken this time, but it sure as hell wasn’t what he’d been promised. He was having a hard time walking, all the lights had auras around them, and everything felt _bad_ , like he was on the verge of a panic attack. He felt like he was being pulled down, dragged somewhere he might not come back from, and he was terrified.

 

He wasn't entirely sure where he was. He'd been couch surfing again (or, at this point, pallet-on-the-floor surfing), lucky enough to find someone in one of his junkie circles willing to lend him a place to sleep with running water, but he wasn't familiar with this part of town. Or maybe he was? It was hard to remember, fuzzy as his head was right now.

 

He turned to the dozing figure on the shabby couch next to him, a man decked out in clothes that were all at least two sizes too big or too small for him that reeked of body odor and stale cigarette smoke. This man had sold him the pills, cheaper than he usually got his fix for. That should've been the first warning sign, but he'd been jonesing too bad to be suspicious of a good deal.

 

He nudged the man's ragged boots with his own tennis shoe-clad feet, hoping to shake him out of his stupor. When that didn't work, he leaned over to jostle his shoulders, nearly stumbling on top of the guy in the process. The man's head flopped side to side, and his glassy eyes opened, pupils blown wide and eyeliner smudged down his face.

 

"Wha..? Whaddya want?" a groggy voice croaked out. The guy - what was his name, Kevin? Carl? some sort of K sound - furrowed his brows, clearly not happy at being disturbed.

 

"I thought you said these were roxys?" Dan slurred, struggling to get his words out through the panicked mire of his brain.

 

K-man flopped his hand in the air lazily, as if waving off his concerns. "Yea, yea, somethin' like that."

 

The halfass response wasn't good enough, and Dan felt anger bubbling up inside him. He grabbed the fur lined edges of the man's black coat and lifted him up - or tried to, anyways. Even though the guy was just as scrawny as him, his muscles didn't want to cooperate, and he just ended up yanking the man forward.

 

K-man (Kris? Kenny? whatever, the dealer) frowned and held up his hands in surrender. "Whoa, whoa. Chill _out_ , dude. What's got you so worked up?"

 

Dan dug through his pocket and pulled out the little plastic baggy, a few pills still inside. He'd planned on saving them for later, but this experience was quickly changing his mind.

 

"What the fuck _are_ these?" Dan demanded, shaking the bag in front of the dealer's face.

 

The dealer narrowed his eyes, going surprisingly lucid for someone as high as he was, and snatched the bag from Dan's hand. He studied the pills, mouth quirking to the side, before he had a lightbulb moment.

 

"Oh, man!" he grinned up at Dan. "This is ketamine! You're fine man, enjoy the k-hole!" He tossed the pills back to Dan and flopped back on the couch.

 

"Ketamine..? Isn't that some sort of horse tranquilizer?" Dan stared at the pills, bewildered. They seemed to swirl and move in his hand, and he shook his head, trying to clear his vision.

 

"Yyyyyup! Have fun!" the dealer (Klayton? Kingsley? this was really going to bother him), seemed content, and started to zone out again.

 

"I don't want this shit! This isn't what I paid for!" Dan glared at the slouching form of the man, whose name he still couldn't quite place. The guy chuckled.

 

"Hey, if you won't take 'em, I'll be glad to." he held out his hand eagerly.

 

Dan threw the bag in the man's face with a snarl, then reeled as a wave of nausea rolled through him. He held back a gag.

 

"Sweet!" the dealer cheered, then eyed Dan over. "Oh, man, if you're gonna hurl, do it outside. The toilet doesn't work."

 

Dan stumbled to the door, shaking a bit, and tried to stay steady on his feet. It felt like the world was tumbling around him, like an earthquake, or like the ground was going to open up beneath him and swallow him up. He shuddered, barely managing to swallow down another wave of nausea with a groan, feeling the saliva build up in his mouth.

 

The door was had three locks; one in the knob, a deadbolt, and a sliding lock on a chain. Even one was too many for Dan's bleary mind, but he struggled to stay coherent enough to open each one. Finally, _finally_ , he managed to claw the sliding lock out of its track, and just in time. He burst through the door, and made it two steps onto the staircase outside before he had to lean over the railing and heave. There wasn't much in his stomach aside from hot, burning bile, and the bitter remains of the pills that hadn't finished digesting. For once he was grateful that he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a decent meal.

 

Once he'd emptied himself out, he had a brief period of relief. The world seemed a bit more solid around him, if only momentarily. He was still swaying, though, and he could feel the edges of his mind blurring, like the sick high was lurking in wait to take him over again. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and turned around to go back inside, only to hear the locks sliding back into place.

 

He frowned and knocked on the door.

 

"Nobody's ho-ome!" came the singsong response of the dealer.

 

"What the fuck? Let me back in!" he pounded on the door angrily.

 

"Toodles, Mr. Music Man~! Go somewhere you’re not gonna harsh my vibes." Dan could faintly hear the dealer's footsteps leaving the door, presumably to sit back on the couch.

 

"Goddammit!" Dan beat his fists against the door. "This isn't funny!"

 

A window opened a floor up and a room over, and a voice hollered down at him, "Shut the fuck up before I knock your block off!"

 

"But he-" Dan began trying to defend himself.

 

An angry face peered out of the window to match the voice. "Do I look like I give a fuzzy rat's ass? Now fuck off!"

 

Dan looked back and forth between the man in the window and the door, swayed a bit, then decided to give knocking one last try.

 

"That's it! I'm getting my gun!" the head disappeared from the window.

 

"Shit!" Dan swore, and turned away from the door. He could swear he heard the dealer laughing from inside the house as he wobbled his way down the steps.

 

 _"I have to get somewhere safe"_ was his last lucid thought, before the darkness took over.

 

~~~~~

 

“This is gonna sound cheesy, but it basically boils down to the Golden Rule; treat everyone like you wanna be treated. Jesus helped everyone, especially those in need. So love each other, no matter the circumstances, because God's love belongs to us all.” Barry finished off his Sunday night youth sermon, before drawing everyone in for prayer.

 

“Our Father God,” he began, bowing his head and closing his eyes. The circle of kids around him joined in as he prayed for each of them to share the love God showed each of them, and should they ever fall on hard times, that someone would show them the same kindness. "Amen."

 

With a resounding “amen,” the youths began packing their belongings and dispersing. 

 

“Don’t forget that if anyone has any questions, you can always come talk to me afterwards.” But it seemed none of the students were interested. Most hadn’t even really payed attention to the sermon, sneaking furtive glances at their phones or just vacantly staring at the posters decorating the small youth room. Now they were quick to head out, back to their homes and their video games and god knows what else. Probably not to study the bible, despite what he may suggest from time to time.

 

Sunday evenings were a lot easier on him than the Wednesday nights, with all their activities and games. Sure, Wednesdays were more fun, but he was the one who had to do all the planning for those activities, and find ways to loop them into the bible somehow. Sundays were a lot simpler. Pass out a few snacks and some lemonade, say a sermon, then set the kids loose.

 

He wasn’t sure how well the term “kids” applied since he taught ages 11 to 17. Really anyone old enough to be trusted alone for a few hours, but too young to be “real adults” yet. It wasn’t a large group; his church was pretty small, a far cry from those massive mega churches that most folks in town seemed to flock to.

 

And now that small group was getting even smaller, as the younger ones got picked up by parents or carpooled with friends, while the teens split off into groups, mostly to travel home, but some undoubtedly to cause more mayhem before the weekend was completely over. 

 

Barry stood at the front door of the church, waving everyone off, until he was satisfied he was completely alone in the building. Then, with a sigh, he closed and locked the front door of the church. Now came the boring part; cleaning up. But he didn’t mind, not really. It gave him a chance to wonder if his lessons had sank in with any of the students, or even with himself. He’d tried to find a lesson that was simple enough to understand, something that conveyed the same basic message he'd picked up in school: God loves everyone.

 

_ Bullshit _ , he thought to himself, but immediately brushed it off. He couldn’t be disparaging the word of god in the deity’s own house - or, at least, the house people designed to worship him. God’s house was everywhere, or so he’d been told.

 

He finished putting away the cookies and crackers into the pantry and the lemonade into the fridge, then headed around the rest of the church to check that all the lights were off and the doors were closed and locked, so he missed the loud  **thump** at the back door. He didn’t notice anything amiss when he headed that way, keys in hand to lock himself out. He always parked at the back of the building, where he didn’t have to worry about fighting for a space.

 

He opened the door and -

 

**thud** .

 

His first thought when he peered through the crack in the door was that he’d opened it into an old pile of clothes. People left those sometimes as donations, though there really were better places for that. But then the pile of clothes started groaning.

 

Barry flicked on the light switch behind himself and stepped out to stand over the figure. The guy didn’t look dangerous, though he was clearly high off his ass on something. Barry was just debating on what to do with the guy when his eyes opened, and the most awestruck look crossed his face.

 

“Are… Are you an  _ angel?” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoever manages to correctly guess who the drug dealer was gets a cookie!


End file.
